


Adult Children

by ValiantDefiance



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:53:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValiantDefiance/pseuds/ValiantDefiance
Summary: It wasn’t that Daniel was ignorant to dynamics; he went through public school sex ed, he knew the basics of it all. The main issue was more that he just never really factored it into his daily life.
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 26
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No set timeline, not edited. Fight Me.

It wasn’t that Daniel was ignorant to dynamics; he went through public school sex ed, he knew the basics of it all. The main issue was more that he just never really factored it into his daily life. Daniel was a beta from a family of betas; he possessed no heightened sense of smell, no exaggerated pheromones, and of course he would never experience a heat or rut. 

And he was perfectly fine with that. Actually, pretty fucking jazzed about it. Dynamic puberty and courting culture sounded like a nonsensical hellscape from what he had heard from friends with secondary sexes, and Daniel had problems navigating all the “normal” bullshit he had experienced. A more accurate way to describe how he felt about secondary sexes was simply that he didn’t.

Because Daniel would never date an alpha or an omega. Not in a shitty bigot sort of way! He has close friends from across the secondary sex spectrum. Intimate relationships just didn’t happen between betas and people with dynamics. The expectations are just too different for any sort of healthy bond to form. Besides, the dating pool was larger for betas in general for their greater quantity, which--when paired with Daniel’s aggressive bisexuality--meant he just didn’t think about his alpha or omega friends and acquaintances as potential partners.

That’s just how it is.

\--

Max is Daniel’s new teenage teammate that has a bad case of resting bitch face. Max is passion infused with a sour demonor and a dry almost cruel sense of humor. He is the musky scent of industrial dust and the sharp sting of alcohol based cleaners. He is strong, with square but lithe shoulders that he often carries pulled in, like he’s trying to make himself smaller, more compact. A feature that Daniel has noticed over his years is a feature of many with a stronger affinity for scent detection; a fact that probably applies here because it is no secret that Max has a strong nose to match his powerful temper.

Because Max is an alpha; a fact Daniel only knows because it dominated the news cycle when he made his F1 debut awhile back. Max embodies all that the stereotypes say an alpha should be; he has a blunt way of speaking (which makes his jokes hit just on the wrong side of mean more often than not), a piercing gaze, and for all that betas shouldn’t be able to smell it, his presence is unmistakable.

Daniel couldn’t be made to give a fuck. 

Their first meeting as teammates is a stuffy boring affair; management introduces them as if they haven’t raced each other before, like they hadn’t been passively aware of their imminent new business association. The whole thing feels like a waste of time, and Max is visibly and quickly running out of patience with it all; his posture hunching down like he’s trying to clandestinely fold himself in half while his fingers drum manically along the armrest of his leather chair. Max is the epitome of tense, and Daniel moves his hands to grip his own armrests in sympathy. 

One of the investors leans forward after all the nonsense introductions are made to shake their hands only to quickly realize his mistake when Max flinches hard and knocks a flimsy paper cup of coffee off the table between them. Daniel meets Max’s eyes over the coffee soaked glass that separates them in the otherwise sterile meeting room and can’t help the smile that breaks on his face nor the hiccup of laughter that escapes his mouth before he schools his reaction. Max’s expressions transition quickly though ‘frightened animal’ to ‘confused child’ and settles at ‘embarrassed petulant teenager’. 

The investor starts to mumble half formed apologies as Daniel uses a few tissues that had been tossed toward the side table coffee fiasco to clean the mess. Max seems unlikely to respond at this point so he jumps in.

“It’s all fine, mate. Just stay out of his space, yeah?” Daniel smirks, drops the soggy tissues in a corner trash can, then walks back over and grabs the man's hand with his slightly damp one “ ‘sides, I give better handshakes anyways.” 

Daniel jiggles their linked hands a few times before the investor attempts a smile and shuffles away muttering another quick really sorry, won’t happen again in Max’s direction.

“I don’t have a problem with people touching me” Max says, voice confrontational while his body language still screams uncomfortable. He’s looking pointedly ahead, a spotty blush on his neck and cheeks. He opens his mouth, but Daniel cuts him off-

“It’s the sudden space invading, I know that look; he caught you off guard! A professional athlete with cat-like reflexes-” with that he karate chops the air a few times randomly then continues, gleeful “and that old man managed to get the better of you!”.

Max huffs out a laugh, he meets Daniel’s eyes and then rolls his in a wide dramatic fashion “He smelled so bad, like decay and boiled cabbage” He gags, an exaggerated motion “I wasn’t thinking, my body went into fight or flight mode!” He forces out a chuckle that turns more legitimate as Daniel joins in before stopping to add “Wasn’t the best of introductions, I hope no one holds it against me”.

“If something that smelled like rotting cabbage tried to touch me, I would do worse than spill a little cup of coffee.” He looks up, a signature smile in place only to see Max’s expression twitch to anger (or frustration, maybe).

“But he did, and you didn’t” Max quickly states, wry grin appearing from behind that demipermanent pout “They all smelt so fucking bad and it didn’t phase you at all. I know what people have said about me, I can’t afford to make stupid mistakes, at this point it might become the end-”

“Do I smell fuckin’ awful too?” Daniel asks, looking almost excited about the answer. He’s tempted to tip his face into his armpit, but that’s not how any of this scent bullshit works so he stops after just a deep whiff of sterile office air.

Max flushes further, his forehead and nose joining the splotches that remain against his cheeks. His expression is one Daniel remembers well from childhood, the one his mother used when he asked--loudly and publicly-- what a dildo was at age six. If Daniel had to guess, it’s a mixture of incredulous, embarrassment and plain exhaustion. He studies Daniel’s face before replying in a slow cadence, like he was addressing a child. Or just someone particularly dense.

“You smell fine, Daniel.” Max’s face has returned to chagrined amusement, he chuckles “That’s not the problem I’m having at the moment. New places take getting used to when your nose hates everything”. 

“As long as you don’t zone out and flip shit again, I’m sure hardly anyone will notice. You’ve just got to stick with the pain, otherwise it consumes you.”

Max shakes his head in a very no shit, dumbass, why didn’t I think of that kind of way before moving closer to where Daniel’s standing in the pathway towards the door. “Sorry to disappoint, but I know myself too well to think I can just not ‘flip shit’ and have that be a solution to my…” he spreads his arms out bringing attention to his left hand, still tightened into a fist, and the small coffee stain that’s saturated on his upper thigh. “..problems.”

“I wish I could tell you most of the meetings aren’t as pointless as this one but I think lying to you would be a shit way to start our working relationship.” Max huffs before drawing his arms together, clasping the clinched left with his right. Daniel’s still meeting his eyes when he steps forward into Max’s space. “Let me know if I can do anything to help you and your nose deal with the constant barrage of hot garbage stench I’m sure you’ll encounter here.” 

Daniel reaches out, slowly--ever so impossibly slowly-- and grabs Max’s shoulder shaking him slightly and squeezing as Max looks on, almost shocked. His body unconsciously unclenches and if Daniel had even less self preservation he would call it cute; Max as an angry dog realizing how nice scritches are. Daniel lets his grip fall, reluctantly. 

“I’m looking forward to racing with you, Max.” 

Max seems to surprise both of them when he reaches out and catches Daniel’s right hand in his. The grip is all wrong for a handshake; their fingers are entangled and mashed together like the worst of prepubescent hand holding and Max just increases the pressure. He then rapidly jiggles them, reminiscent of how Daniel had treated the Investor. Daniel would think he was being mocked if not for the small genuine smile aimed his way. Well, he’s still probably being mocked, but in a good natured way. 

“I’m looking forward to kicking your ass, Daniel.” 

“Fuckin’, good luck with that, mate. I know your weakness-- old cabbage!” They both laugh, hands still haphazardly linked. Max uses the grip to pull Daniel closer into him, shoulder bumping into his before he leans back to regain eye contact.

“And I know yours, you are way too fucking friendly.” 

With that, Max detangles their fingers and hip checks Daniel out of the way perhaps a touch harder than playful before taking off at a jog from the room, snorting out a cackle when Daniel makes to pursue him. 

So, yeah. Max is an alpha; but that isn’t going to change how Daniel treats him.

\--

Here is a list of things Daniel knows about his teammate after a few months of working and traveling together, in no particular order:  
-He can fall asleep whenever and wherever. Daniel will often find him tucked into a ball on hard and soft surfaces alike, snoring with his mouth mostly agape and a steady trickle of drool leaking out.  
-He will forget to eat for hours at a time, and then will demolish every bit of sustiance that he can get his hands on. The catering team can never predict how much food to bring at an event because it’s up in the air if Max will be in dearth or excess consumption mode.  
-He is disorganized to what would be a fault for most people. His living spaces, as well as any public areas he has access to inevitably become cluttered with discarded socks, sweatshirts, and his mounting collection of hats and sneakers. It’s visibly complete chaos but he never loses anything, able to quickly locate whatever object he wants by smell alone.  
-He doesn’t mind people touching him (like he claimed at his introductory meeting), but his tolerance for having his hair messed with is about nonexistent. His usual uniform of a wide brimmed cap does the job of mitigating hair styling opportunities, and it only takes him growling at one enthusiastic aide before the team just decides to cut their losses.

In the end, what Daniel knows about Max is that he’s a normal teenager. Well, normal is a bit of a misnomer. It’s normal teenage shit with a dash of dynamic spice to it. Except for a habit that Daniel finds out largely by accident, an accident that was admittedly entirely his fault.

Max loves wearing other people's clothes.

You see, Max's lack of order with his belongings makes finding, say, Daniel’s version of a near identical Redbull branded jacket in a common room a herculean task. Daniel could swear that he had left his jacket on the coat rack, but the damn thing was barren while the piles of cloth on the floor seemed to mock him. Daniel lacks Max’s super sniffer™ so he’s relegated to moving around the patches of mostly Max’s sweaty garments with the tip of his toes in search. When he finds a jacket, he quickly dons it and rushes off to the social media filming that he’s already tardy for.

An upside to having a chaotic teenager for a coworker is that Daniel is never truly late for anything as long as he beats Max, and he almost always does with today being no exception. Daniel has been shooting the shit with a few camera and microphone techs for upwards of ten minutes by the time Max stumbles in, offering vague apologies to the room at large.

The weekend hasn’t gone in Max’s favor thus far-- a power failure in qualifying and a weight dropped on his foot while exercising-- so the team had resigned fully to this lighthearted filming session producing harsh and unusable content. Safe to say that no one was expecting a down right jovial Max to be present. But here he is, leaning into Daniel’s side as they play through the silly game the PR team thought up for them, giggling and smiling even when they push past the thirty minute mark usually set up for fluffy content. They’re dismissed by a thoroughly pleased PR department, and Max grabs Daniel’s hand to pull him out of earshot. 

“So, you’ve stolen my jacket.” Max has a smug grin on his face, which is the only thing that keeps Daniel from going into full freakout mode. Because that means the jacket Max is wearing belongs to Daniel. And while Max claims that Daniel ‘Smells fine’, Daniel hates that a simple mistake on his part caused his friend discomfort. Daniel starts to shrug off the pilfered coat, but Max stops him. 

“This one is much cleaner. And softer, you must use some fancy detergent on it.” Max retreats his head into his shoulders, effectively smashing his face into the collar of Daniel’s jacket. “And I guess it’s mine, now” Max has a pleased little smirk on his face, daring Daniel to challenge for ownership of that jacket without causing a scene. Daniel has no intention to do so.

“Guess it is. Maybe you can learn some proper cleaning habits from it! Maxy, all of your clothing could be that soft if only you bothered to launder them, like, ever.” Max huffs, then shrugs. A huff-shrug combo, if you will.

“That’s asking a bit much from me and the jacket. I prefer my luxuries without toil.” 

They start to walk back to the hospitality area together, Max looking more relaxed than he has all weekend. And Daniel… well if pressed would pinpoint this as the starting point to a very specific unexplainable obsession.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote "it's not unusual" and then that song played on mental repeat for five hours. No timeline, no planning. Welcome to hell, enjoy.

It starts with small deniable things, a swap of a branded shirt, a pair of Daniel’s old running shorts left in a pile of clean(?) clothing in Max’s room. Tiny things, things no one but Max would ever notice. And notice he does, like a bloodhound Max finds all of Daniel’s cloth offerings and wears them more often than not. It’s not unusual for Max to be decked out in more of Daniel’s clothing than his own; today a pair of fancy hiking socks incongruously matched with a worn pair of pleather sneakers, threadbare sweatpants that still mostly proclaim devotion to Daniel’s favorite rugby team, and a soft navy blue henley is the (mostly) gifted outfit of choice.

Max is fast asleep on a chair in the corner of the team's main gathering area, having depleted his social reserves hours earlier. His legs are drawn up into his body, head resting on the slant where thighs meet the knee. Regular chuffing snores emanate from where his mouth is trying to drown him on dry land. No amount of chatter or general revelry will passively wake him at this point in his sleep cycle, so the team--and Daniel-- who have grown accustomed to ignoring him are still lounged around the room, making plans for the last day at home before they ship out to the next track. Daniel has no intention of joining in, wanting instead to just get home and get some sleep that is even half as deep as the coma Max appears to be slipping into.

Daniel does his round of goodbyes before he departs the complex towards his car, fond images of his own bed playing in a loop behind his eyelids. He’s made it about fifty meters out the door when a shout of his name brings him to a halt. Max is moving at a half jog, quickly eating the space between them, though he slows to a walk when Daniel turns to him. He’s waving, like Daniel hasn’t yet acknowledged his presence to Max’s standards yet. Daniel waves back, over the top and with a few hand gestures sprinkled in. 

“You left without saying goodbye, asshole.” Max seems genuinely pissed, a fact that is in no way actually Daniel’s fault. He wonders who woke Max up, and if their tetanus shot is current. 

“Goodbye, asshole” Daniel smirks, poking the proverbial bear that is the sleep grumpy teenager.

Max exhales quickly and presses into Daniel’s space, demonstrably still in a less than stellar mood. He has his whole left side smushed against Daniel’s right, sharp angles of him digging harshly into the meat of Daniel’s torso. It only takes a moment for Daniel to recognize the pattern of Max’s breath is clear and deep  _ sniffs, _ and while he is fully supportive of Max’s dynamic shit, that is fucking  _ weird. _

“Do you smell something, fido?” Daniel ruffles Max’s hair, tugging slightly at the messy strands in what is a sure fire way to get Max to grumble and flinch away. And the grumble comes, sounding deeper than normal because Max is still trying to burrow inside Daniel’s right tit, but the flinch pointedly does not. Max presses his head against his hand and Daniel can hardly resist providing scratches and pets, and really, what has his life become these days. 

“We shouldn’t go out with the team tonight, we’re both obviously exhausted.” Max breathes the sentence along Daniel’s clavicle, his head nudging up further when Daniel’s hands stop their motion at the words. 

“Way ahead of you, mate. I have a  _ steamy _ date with a hot shower and my pillow. No drunk cunts invited or welcome.”

Max leans away from him, but not far. His hands come up to frame Daniel’s face and he presses his fingers up Daniel’s jaw bone and into the curls above his ears. Max’s movements are slow, cautious, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed the gentle action. He’s not tugging or scratching, simply passing his fingers through Daniel’s hair like a clunky comb; Daniel has no fucking idea what’s going on.

Max hums out a soft  _ ‘Good’  _ and grabs a handful of hair, shaking Daniel’s head quickly before he extricates himself at a speed that shouldn’t be possible for a man with gunk still crusted in his eyes and a visible drool stain above the knee of his pants. But before Daniel can even think of a response to, well, any of Max’s weird horse shit, he’s already running back towards the complex.

Maybe at another time Daniel would have questioned the encounter more, but as it stands he’s falling asleep on his feet in the middle of a parking lot. So he just accepts it, like any of the other Max-isms that he has experienced in their time as teammates. 

\--

Daniel never gets a formal explanation for Max attempting to fuse with his torso, but his acceptance opens the metaphorical floodgates of physical contact. Daniel would hesitate to call it cuddling, it’s far too aggressive for that, but no other words seem to fit the action. Without any warning, Max will just press every surface he can of his body against him in a manner that leaves Daniel stumbling to find balance; he’s like a giant cat that doesn’t understand that the human caretakers cannot handle the sheer mass of their love. Daniel is no stranger to human contact, he would even consider himself a connoisseur, and he’s happy to be the recipient of Max’s awkward demonstrations of affection. Often, Daniel will acknowledge his presence against him by playing with bits of Max’s hair, even flicking his hat from his head in order to get at the tufts. Months ago he wouldn’t have dared, but Max just lets him now, like he expects nothing different.

It’s sweet. 

Max is sweet. 

Well, to him at least. (Daniel’s still pretty sure he would try to maim Ocon for far less)

Tonight has them drinking room temperature beer on the balcony of Daniel’s hotel room, celebrating what was frankly a disgustingly average race result. They’re down to the last three bottles of a twelve pack, Daniel having had four to Max’s five. He’s watching Max methodically peel the paper label off his nearly empty beer from the base up in thin strips, rolling them into balls between the flat of his palm and his fingers before allowing them to fall, creating a small pile at his feet. He has a far away look in his eyes, but his attention turns to Daniel after only two more trash marbles tumble from his intoxicated grip.

“Do you ever think about the stars?” He says it with such determination, like he’s spoken something of profound importance. 

“I probably think about the stars some. But, mate, that is an open ended question.” 

Max laughs at him, lolling his head side to side along the stiff back of the deck chair he’s slouched in before he replies.

“No, just. In a ‘what am I doing here’ kind of way.” His left foot is moving the pile of rubbish around the floor as he watches intently on.

“In a ‘I’m so tiny and pointless’ kind of way?”

“Nah, a literal way. Just… What. Am  _ I.  _ Doing. Here?” Max is kicking at the paper now, some of it falling to the streets below; if Daniel was sober he would complain about littering being serious business, but environmentally conscious Daniel disappeared two beers in.

“Driving very fast, and getting very drunk.” Daniel states, then smiles when Max laughs again and stops his fidgeting, instead leaning towards Daniel’s side of the balcony. 

“I didn’t drive that fast today, and I don’t even like getting drunk. Usually” He tacks the last bit on like an explanation before he continues, accent heavy and words slurred “It makes things… harder. But you…” he spreads his legs wide, knocking his knee against the outside of Daniel's thigh, “you’re easy.”

“You calling me a two bit whore, Max?” Daniel clutches at imaginary pearls, pulling back and putting on his best offended face. Max laughs at his antics, adding in an impressively teenage eye roll. 

“You know ‘m not. Being around you, it’s better. Nice.” Max looks and sounds about seven seconds away from falling asleep out here, surrounded by empty bottles of mediocre beer and the humid heat from the city and coast below. Daniel places a companionable hand on Max’s thigh, patting a couple of times, each slightly harder than the last. 

“Let’s get you back to your room, drunky. We’ve shit to do tomorrow, we need to sleep.” Max hums in acknowledgement but makes no move to get up. “Come on, mate. Bed.” Daniel resorts to nudging him with his knee, probably harder than needed. After about six, Max turns to him with an unknown expression.

“Can I stay here?” Daniel would assume that it was out of pure unadulterated laziness if not for the wide set of his eyes and the blush that has started to creep along his neck. And no one would ever accuse him of being unrelenting when it comes to Max. 

“You need to brush your teeth and charge your cell.” Max closes his eyes, looking resigned and god damnit, Daniel really cannot deny him anything can he-- “I could get ready here and we could sleep in yours?” And Max is already moving, pushing past Daniel to get the sliding door open before tumbling inside. 

“Hurry, then. I’m  _ tired,  _ Dan.” Daniel follows him inside with a chuckle, making his way to his open suitcase to select a shirt to sleep in. He passes Max in his route to the ensuite, and goes out of his way to jostle his shoulder. Max makes an exaggerated wounded noise before he crumples dramatically onto the bed. “I can’t believe you, getting me drunk just so you could beat me up. So mean to me, I don’ know why I like you”.

Daniel doesn’t bother to reply, already to his destination, toothbrush primed. He usually spends the two minutes looking in the mirror, making faces for his own amusement or simply staring as he polishes his grin. But when he meets his reflection tonight all he can think about is his slight flush from the alcohol, the haziness in his eyes, and the fact that he’s going to follow Max to bed just because he asked. He would glare closer, try to figure this out, but he knows it wont change the outcome of this evening. He looks away.

When he returns Max is practically passed out on the mattress, starfished fully with Daniel’s unplugged phone charger loosely clasped in his hand. Thoughtful, even when beyond wasted. Daniel tries and fails not to feel touched.

“Up, come on.” Max grumbles, but doesn’t bother to move. Daniel grabs his ankle and yanks, dragging Max’s limp body to the edge of the bed. A growl starts up, deep and rumbling as Max shifts and drops to the floor. Only a few months ago the sound would have rung alarm bells in the primordial part of Daniel’s mind, but now he relishes in it, finds the sound of Max’s discontent almost playful. “You don’t scare me, teen wolf. Up! Bed time.”

Max groans, but makes to stand, using the corner of the mattress to push himself to his feet. He crowds against Daniel’s back, shuffling along obediently as Daniel maneuvers them out the door and towards Max’s. They somehow manage to get the door open, and Max quickly disappears into the bathroom.

The bed is predictably unmade-- Max has a deep distaste for having strangers in his space-- but one side is less claimed than the other. Daniel moves the blankets aside and slips in, unconsciousness claiming him quickly. The last thing he remembers before he falls completely under is Max’s foot nudging against his ankle and a muttered ‘g’night, Dan.’

\--

It probably would have gone unexamined and unnoticed if it had just been the one off, just Daniel and Max drunkenly sharing a room; except Max has once again decided to make a habit of it. When they get to hotels now, Max won't even take the key card the aids collect for him, just follows Daniel up-- luggage in tow-- and claims the side of the bed closer to the door. Which means that Daniel has noticed it, noticed that Max seems more relaxed when they arrive at team meetings on the road, that he naps less in public during race weekends, that after the first night in a new place he swaps their pillows and sleeps on his stomach, breathing deeply with his face squished against the plush give of it. But he hasn’t examined it. Call it self preservation, call it blatant stupidity, Daniel doesn’t know--or care-- why Max likes sharing his space.

The team has started to clue in; Christian only texts one of them with updated meeting information when they’re traveling, after a while no one bothers with the second room pretense, simply handing two keys off to the double they’ve started booking for them. The first time that happens, Daniel drops his stuff on the bed near the window only for Max to groan about his preference for sleeping closer to the interior. Daniel pauses, about to point out the fact that he does know Max’s idiosyncrasies-- better than most-- when he realizes that Max is still planning on sleeping in his bed. If he were smarter he would have put an end to it then, but no one has ever accused Daniel of being smart.

Because if he was smart, he would have noticed how much he likes Max. It’s only after a full year of banter, play fighting, ‘stolen’ clothes, fierce on track battles, vigorous cuddling, shared beds, and  _ sniffing _ , that Daniel realizes that Max has become one of his closest friends. He’s confrontational and a bit of a bitch, but Daniel can match both in intensity. They fit together so well that Daniel almost feels lonely in the time when he doesn’t have Max beside him. 

When winter testing starts up, Daniel is honestly relieved to be back on the road, and back in Monaco for his days off. He’s greeted by an overly enthusiastic Max the second he walks into the team meeting room after his return flight from Australia. He pushes into Daniel’s space, no longer hesitant and self-conscious but confident in his welcome in regards to all things Daniel: his friendship, his space, his clothing, his bed. Daniel hugs him back before using the grip to lift him off the ground, spinning in a slow and encumbered circle with Max’s toes dragging slightly on the ground. 

It produces the desired effect; Max starts to giggle and squirm, digging his chin into the soft juncture of Daniel’s neck and shoulder. He takes a deep breath before whispering a quick ‘missed you’ as Daniel returns him to his feet. 

“Mmm, wish I could say the same, but I very much enjoyed my respite from your ugly mug.” Max has the beginnings of a pout, but before it can manifest Daniel grabs Max’s cap from his head and hauls him in so they’re pressed chest to chest, thoroughly ruffling Max’s hair in the process. When they break apart, Daniel places his own hat--backwards-- on the unruly mess he created of Max’s hair. And there it is again, the happy air that follows Max when he finds a new piece of Daniel’s clothing that has been left for him. (Although Daniel suspects that with their even closer quarters in the last bit of the season that Max started absconding with whatever he wanted from Daniel’s luggage. But he never confronted Max about it, and can hardly blame him. You teach others how to treat you, he supposes.) 

Max steps away, grabbing Daniel’s wrist to pull him along as he moves them further into the conference room only dropping his hold to shuffle around and take his place opposite Daniel at the row of monitors. One of the engineers catches Daniel’s attention and lifts a thoroughly amused eyebrow, looking between him and Max. Daniel’s mostly sure that she herself is an alpha-- he tries not to pay attention to gossip, but things like that get shared around often-- and the perspective she has on them colors her attention in an intriguing way; Daniel raises a brow back, then waggles them in a manner that he knows looks ridiculous. She snorts, then quickly averts her gaze. When Daniel returns his focus in front of him, he finds Max staring intently though him, unblinking and unrepentant. He only has a moment of confusion before a message comes through on his screen; it’s from the alpha(?) engineer.

_ Sorry, didn’t mean to cause alarm. I know you don’t have the nose to recognize it, but pre-rut hormones are spilling off Max like a tsunami. Be lenient toward him. _

_ Or extra lenient. _

_ ;) _

And, huh. That makes him contemplate a few things in quick succession. Daniel is glad to work in an environment where a winky face can be sent through official channels. And Daniel’s never really been as close to a person with a secondary sex as he is with Max; he has no idea how to handle this. He knows ruts are associated with elevated aggression, maybe he should lay off the poking and prodding the two of them usually engage in. But, also. 

Also. 

  
What the fuck did she mean by  _ extra  _ lenient?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the comments are appreciated, you guys rock. Here's some more of this, no time line, no editing. Enjoy.

Daniel decides the best way to handle the  _ situation  _ is by ignoring it. After all it’s not the kind of thing he would have been able to deduce himself, and while he is a mature adult that can and will have conversations about basic biological functions with friends and partners alike, there is a stark difference between a pal bringing up their menstruation cycle and Daniel being the one to announce it’s arrival. A fact he learned in the chaotic dissolution of his first real relationship post highschool, and in hindsight it seems pretty obvious. He knows it’s not exactly the same, but the situations seem comparable enough.

But not close enough for his mind to just stop dwelling on it like he assumed they--his mind and whatever the fuck was controlling him now-- agreed on. Which is why he finds himself here, lounging in a plush recliner by his apartment window google searching ‘alpha ruts’ on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. And, wow. He really shouldn’t be surprised, but that query brought up a lot of porn. He turns safe search on-- which he hasn’t had to do since his baby cousins had been around last-- and tries again, this time actually garnering some informative results. 

Daniel skims through a few healthline and webMD articles; most of the information is just the basic shit he knows he learned in highschool: elevated hormone levels, mood fluctuations, amplified protective instincts, and of course-- the reason for the many (really, very many) porn results-- heightened arousal. The writing is academic, nothing overtly useful and no suggestions whatsoever on how well meaning but slightly asshole-ish beta friends should adjust their behavior around an alpha in rut.

Discontent, he modifies the search to be more specific to his problem and locates a forum about A/B/O solidarity that has a few threads that sound useful. The first is posted by a beta that asks the million dollar question almost verbatim: ‘Do I need to modify my actions around a friend that is in pre rut?’ The answers are generally harmonious but they vary between: ‘Give them space and understanding’ and ‘It’s not a disease!! They’ve been going through these for years, don’t change anything unless they seem uncomfortable!’. And with that he forms his real plan of action; he will just try to moderate his behavior for the next.. week or so without being overbearing or -- god forbid-- having to talk about any of this. For that next week or so, it will just be Daniel and Max, good friends and teammates that are a meter apart at all times rather than Daniel and Max who are wrestling on the floor over the last non-bruised banana in catering. 

It’s so simple! Which is really when Daniel should have realized that it was a deeply flawed strategy. They are at the airport getting ready to fly out for another bout of winter testing. Max is on time for once, sitting at one of the overstuffed airport lounge chairs eating ravenously from a takeaway container. It appears to have been at one point in time an omelette, but the form has disappeared, cut into chunks that are mixed with a dry salad of sorts before being speared together and brought eagerly to Max’s waiting maw. If Daniel was following The Plan here, he would move to the other end of the small private terminal and do… literally anything but bother Max while he eats his breakfast. He intends to do just that, The Plan is probably the correct choice here, but his instincts have him walking over to Max’s position anyways. Daniel grabs a small fist full of napkins on his way, tossing one at Max’s head once he’s in range. 

“You’re making an absolute mess. At least try to chew your food a little before you swallow. No one is going to want to perform the heimlich maneuver when the end result is seeing  _ that”--  _ Daniel gestures to where the greens have gone soggy from the omelettes' heat, leaching juice that has the entire mess turning a sickly shade of green-- “all over the floor.”

“You would rather see me suffocate?” Max barely even slows his munching, though he seems content enough, grabbing at the creased napkin thrown his way to wipe at his mouth. “For shame, Daniel. And I thought we were friends.” He finally meets Daniel’s gaze. He has spinach stuck on his left incisor.

“Well, of course  _ I _ would save you. We already have that particular bond, forged in the hell fire that was those vile, red tinted vodka shots that made my vomit look like teletubby custard.” Max makes a face, obviously reliving  _ that  _ particular memory. He grimaces at the remains of his food, but continues eating anyway. “I’m just not sure anyone else here loves you that much.”

“Mmph, most of the people present here work for a company that has invested a huge chunk of resources in me. I think one of them would save me if I was choking.” He shoves the last clump of eggy mess into his mouth, chewing sarcastically slowly while maintaining eye contact before swallowing the last of his breakfast. Max snatches another napkin from Daniel’s lax grip and rubs down his hands then drops it into the empty food container. “It’s cute that you care so much about my wellbeing. Your concern is unwarranted; I’m a big boy capable of eating without supervision.”

Max reaches for a water bottle that’s resting at his feet, uncaps it and proceeds to gulp it down. Before Daniel has the chance to consider the repercussions he leans sideways and slaps Max between his shoulder blades mid swallow. Max splutters, a portion of the water aerosolizing out while the rest cascades down his chin to soak the front of his shirt. Daniel starts to cackle, continuing even when his brain begins to loudly sound warning bells: ‘hey, idiot! Stop harassing your pre-rut alpha teammate! We  _ agreed  _ on this’. Daniel has the beginnings of an apology started but is cut off by Max snarling and oh fuck, Daniel is going to die here.

“You goddamn asshole!” Max punctuates it by  _ launching _ himself at Daniel, his foot catching on the armrest in his haste to get retribution, causing them to collide and crash to the thin carpet. Max is in full assault mode, using his lithe strength and bony knees to pin Daniel’s legs down, resting most of his weight on the forearm that’s trapping Daniel’s torso. Daniel can’t stop giggling which only seems to goad Max on, a devious glint appearing in his eyes before he grabs the half full water bottle and upends it over Daniel’s heaving chest. The liquid _glugs_ out while Daniel thrashes ineffectively below, and before long his own shirt has a matching water stain and Max’s drink is empty. Max pops to his feet, --evidently content with his payback-- collects all of his trash from breakfast and saunters smugly towards a trash can.

Daniel brings himself upright slowly, catching his breath in small puffs as he pulls his soaked shirt away from his chest, flapping it in a half hearted attempt to dry it out. He’s hesitant to check his surroundings, assuming that most of the team present is gawking and unimpressed by his early morning antics with Max, but their little display of affection appears to have been mostly unnoticed. The few that have been watching just seem amused; ‘just another day at the office’ for them. 

The sound of luggage being unzipped snaps Daniel out of his brief pondering session, and when he turns Max has already procured one of Daniel’s soft lounge shirts from his packed bag. It’s a shirt that both of them are fond of; most of the clothes Max steals returns to Daniel’s possession for at least a wash after a few wears, but this shirt Daniel has had to fight off of Max’s body on more than one occasion. Max meets his glare with a quirked brow, challenging him.

“It’s only fair; your actions have consequences after all.” With that, Max tugs his top over his head-- in the middle of the goddamn airport concourse-- and tosses it into his backpack before slipping Daniel’s on. He looks self-satisfied and soft, a playful glint still in his eye and a ruddy tinge present in his cheeks. And if that is the harshest result of Daniel’s behavior this morning he has no regrets.

“How am I going to get it back, Max?” Daniel whines, pulling at his shirt from where it’s stuck to his pecs “Your memory is conveniently shit when it comes to returning my favorite stuff, and I didn’t think we were sharing a room on this trip.”

Max’s face contorts into confusion, maybe a bit of hurt mixed in. “You don’t want to share? I’ll sleep in the other bed if the pre rut stuff makes you uncomfortable.” 

“I just thought you would want your own space. We can share, doesn’t bother me at all.” It’s not exactly true, Daniel is still trying to process the fact that his body overrides his mind when it comes to all things Max. But that’s not Max’s fault, and it’s really starting to seem like no one is expecting Daniel to change much of anything in that regard anyways.

Max’s face brightens, and his attention is diverted to the still open bag by their feet. He grabs another soft shirt from the top and throws it towards Daniel, chuckling when it slaps against his face. 

\--

Winter testing is incredibly boring from a driver's perspective. Or from Daniel perspective, at least. No tension, no real competition, just a dog and pony show for the car. He tries to keep up his positive attitude for the sake of team morale, so when the team suggests they go out clubbing he’s salivating at the chance to amuse himself properly. Normally, only a good win and the taste of champagne is enough to tempt Max into public revelry, but he follows the lot of them as they depart the hotel on foot. Max refuses to do shots with them, jokingly referring to himself as the ‘designated driver’ when pressed.

Max does join them on the dance floor, which is the best thing that has happened to Daniel in  _ weeks.  _ Max is an objectively bad dancer; so many sharp edges that he flails about in rhythmic, bobbing motions that shake his entire body violently. Daniel loves it so fucking much, the movements almost reminiscent of krumping though he would never refer to it as such. Daniel has lost track of time in the swell of bodies that surrounds him, but he knows that he should hydrate before it gets too late and his insides try to pickle themselves so he peels off in search of water. 

He’s waiting at the bar, noticing the alcohol beginning to fade from his system when a voice startles him slightly. 

“Well, you smell terrible.” Kevin isn’t one of his favorite people, but Daniel hasn’t had any negative interactions with him. Off the track. 

“Nice to see you, Kevin” Daniel gestures at the gap of space at the bar to his left. Kevin makes no move to get closer, though his smirk intensifies. 

“Good to see you, too Dan. Smelling you? Fuckin’ awful.” Daniel knows what smell he’s referring to; Kevin is an omega. Max has been huddled into Daniel's side at any chance available, there’s no way he isn’t carrying some alpha pheromones on his person. “Which is what I wanted to talk about. Do you know if Max has a partner for his rut?”

Daniel does not, and he feels embarrassingly ignorant at the fact. But he’s not going to let Kevin know that. Smug jerk. No, Kevin isn’t at fault, Daniel’s just buzzed and grumpy.

“No.” 

“Feel free to give him my number,--if you still have it-- I could set him up with someone if he wants.” And that’s remarkably chill of him.

“That’s remarkably chill. Thanks, mate.” Daniel reaches out for a friendly pat on Kevin’s shoulder, but he shifts away before contact can be made. Kevin gives an apologetic wince.

“No problem, but please don’t touch me. I don’t want to smell  _ that  _ for a second longer than needed to finish this conversation.” Daniel laughs, drawing his arm back into his space. “I better go, your boy looks like he’s on a warpath over here.” Kevin waves and makes a hasty getaway into the crowded interior. 

On inspection, Max is indeed headed his way, though reports of a warpath are exaggerated. Max bumps his chest into Daniel’s back, hooking his chin over Daniel’s shoulder. 

“Can we leave?” Max’s voice lacks inflection, which is startling enough without the low growl that he can feel against his back. Daniel leans back into the slump of Max’s torso, tilting his head to give Max more space against his neck. The growl continues, but hitches a few times while Max snuffles appreciatively, pleased. 

“I was done drinking anyways. Let’s head out.” Daniel ruffles Max’s sweaty hair, jostling him from his sport on Daniel’s shoulder.

The walk back was uneventful; they picked a club that was within walking distance of the hotel so it’s ten minutes tops before they’re getting ready for bed. Daniel’s showering, thinking of the best way to broach the subject. He’s beginning to think that he blew the entire rut thing out of proportion; everyone just brings it up like it’s common knowledge. With a better nose, he supposes it would be. Direct and to the point is probably the best way.

When Daniel leaves the washroom, Max is vigorously flossing over the sink in the adjoining hallway. No time like the present. 

“Do you have a partner for your rut?” Max stops his movements at the words, his eyes snapping to meet Daniel in the mirror.

“No-pe.” Max breaks the single syllable word in two, then his flossing resuming.

“Would you like one?” Daniel’s proud of himself, just got this over and done with before they were ready for bed and relaxed so no awkwardness keeps them awake. Max is flossing; nothing is less relaxing than  _ flossing.  _ All he needs to do now is send the contact if he gets a yes, and he can go back to pushing this whole business from his mind. But Max hasn’t responded yet, and when Daniel meets his eyes in the mirror Max looks.. floored. The floss has been removed entirely from his mouth, and he spins to face Daniel who is now regretting the decision to do this while dressed in only a towel.

“You would want to?” And oh shit, no, that was not at all what Daniel meant to imply. But Max doesn’t look offended, or troubled, or any sort of negative thing. Max looks hopeful, almost. Daniel should clear this up as soon as possible; a ‘No, I meant one of Kevin’s friends. He offered at the bar.’ maybe a ‘Oh, fuck, I phrased that wrong! I meant someone else. An omega someone else.’ but what his dumb mouth decides on is-

“Yeah, if you want. Whatever you want” And Max is already nodding, turning back to his tooth ministrations. 

“Please. Thanks.” Max’s nose flares, a clear sign that he’s smelling deeply. His face breaks into a wide grin. “Can I finish getting ready for bed now?” Daniel salutes lazily but hurries off to procure underwear and get it onto his body as fast as possible. Daniel crawls into bed and tries desperately not to think about if he just fucked up majorly, he fails-- because of course he does-- but Max’s arrival and subsequent lack of light slows him down slightly. Max faceplants onto his side of Daniel’s (their?) bed, and offers his usual ‘night’ before soft snores start up. 

  
What the  _ fuck. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, and for the abrupt chapter ending. No timeline, no editing, no knowledge of how modern Call of Duty games work. Enjoy.

Daniel expects the morning after accidentally asking his teammate if he wanted to bang to be awkward, but nothing seems out of the ordinary as they make their way to breakfast together. Max is in good spirits, demolishing his food before Daniel’s even halfway finished, spending the rest of the time trying to clandestinely eat blueberries from Daniel’s plate. He’s honestly starting to think the whole thing was just an alcohol fueled dream, and he will not examine if that’s a relief or a disappointment. Daniel’s starting to enter the overthinking phase as they’re walking back to the room to grab their things, but Max brings a quick end to that.

“So, _ it’s _ supposed to start later tonight to midday tomorrow. Could I come over to your place a few hours after we get back?” Daniel tries not to show his shock in any obvious capacity, but he must fail somewhat, as Max's head whips around to him, face serious. “You weren’t drunk, right? You remember asking if I wanted to spend my rut with you last night?”

“I remember! I had four shots of vodka over a two hour span, I’m not that much of a lightweight.” Daniel shoves his shoulder into Max’s sternum, pleased when the tight, uncertain draw of Max’s face eases into his usual playful pout as he pushes Daniel away. “I just thought you would want to be in your own space for this.” 

“Your place is nicer.” That’s a lie; they live in the same building, a few floors apart and Daniel would bet they paid the same interior design company to furnish them. Daniel’s apartment is probably cleaner, but that’s a personal preference and a factor he’s sure _ Max _ doesn’t care about. It’s not worth the effort to point out the discrepancy, especially while they’re standing in a hotel hallway so Daniel lets it be.

“Sure, my place at whatever nebulous time ‘A few hours later’ is.” They’re in the room now, both moving about the space in practiced motions. “Anything I need to do? Vacuum the drapes, stock up on red meat?” _ Buy a metric fuck-ton of condoms? _His brain unhelpfully supplies. 

Max doesn’t even pause in his effort to refold the crumpled clothes pile that makes up his belongings, just shakes his head. 

“Nothing at all?” Daniel elongates the _ all _ to the point of absurdity just to see the way Max’s shoulders jump in silent, restrained laughter. Max has his back to Daniel, still packing though not bothering with the facade of folding and tucking, simply tossing handfuls of material into his suitcase haphazardly.

“Nothing at all. In fact, please don’t do _ anything. _Vacuuming drapes-- I cannot begin to fathom all the ways you could fuck that up.” 

“Hey! I’m reasonably sure that’s a thing people do.” It sets Max off in a bout of snorting laughter and Daniel can’t resist joining in. “Fine. I’ll leave the window treatments alone. How long does your rut usually last, anyways?”

“Two, maybe three days. I’ll bring food.” Apparently done with the conversation, Max heads to the bathroom to gather his toiletries. 

And, well, Daniel guesses that’s his plans for the next few days. 

\--

The flight home is uneventful; Max takes his usual aisle seat a few rows back from Daniel and is magically asleep before they even take off. Daniel spends the first half of the flight trying to watch a film on his tablet, but after the seventh rewind because of the realization that he hadn’t been absorbing any of it, he switches it off. He curls up as thoroughly as he can manage in the tight leather jet seat, because while he’s never had Max’s skill at falling asleep ad nauseam, shutting down whatever is going on in his head is the top priority. 

Daniel is a rational adult, and with that comes at least a surface level ability to think critically about the world around him. Max is one of his best friends. Max is his coworker and rival. Daniel propositioned him, and he happily accepted. They will never be together in any romantic or exclusive capacity. 

All these things when taken together should make Daniel anxious, should send him into a panic spiral about how completely his dumb, past self has fucked them over. But for as distracted and jittery as he’s being, the main feeling pulsing through him is anticipation. There’s something distinctly childlike about it, like the mild frustration of being unable to sleep the night before a class trip or the giddy but cautious head rush of leading a race halfway through.

Deciding he’s done with his admittedly brief bout of thinking, he switches his earbuds over to his phone and puts on some music. There isn’t an intrusive thought that can overpower the sweet tones of David Bowie.

\--

Disembarking and driving home pass in a blur, muscle memory alone keeping Daniel safe through the crowded city streets. His apartment is as clean as he expected it to be, what with the cleaning service having stopped by while they were away. The fridge is down to just basics, but Max said he would bring food so the shopping can wait. 

Which means that Daniel has some time to kill. He tries to think of something productive to work on, maybe an email to respond to or a dish to wash. But his attention is firmly elsewhere and the kitchen is as aforementioned, clean. 

What he shouldn’t be doing is spending the limited amount of time here; laying on his stomach diagonally across his bed, opening and closing his phones browser four complete cycles before deciding ‘fuck it’ and disabling safe search. It’s still an absurd amount of porn, but it elicits a better reaction when anticipated. He’s seen alpha/omega porn stars before--he’s not a sheltered weirdo-- but the mating cycle stuff has never interested him. Daniel selects one at random. 

The clip starts with an alpha man already pressed against the back of an omega woman, thrusting rapidly. Both actors are standing, and their exaggerated moans are made even worse with the quality of his phone's small speaker. The camera angle is wonky, with the key focus on the swinging of the man’s ball sack. Daniel selects another video, quickly. 

This one has an alpha woman fucking maybe the largest breasted omega Daniel’s ever seen over the arm of a couch. The shot is from the opposite side of the sofa, properly highlighting the bounce and sheer magnitude of her tits. He’s beginning to see a pattern with the next selection he makes: omega pinned from behind, alpha rough and powerful, lots of fake moans and terrible camera angles. And that’s probably because it’s _ porn, _Daniel really should have learned his lesson about thinking any of it was realistic after highschool. He locks his phone, and tosses it aside. Then, with great haste, opens it to delete his browser history.

The time for feeling like he has fucked up a perfectly good friendship is over; Daniel has slept with buddies before and continued to have pleasant relationships afterwards. They’re both single, consenting adults; they can bone, it’s (theoretically) fine! Daniel is just out of practice in being exposed to new, terrifying things. Mating cycle sex that involves himself fits firmly in that category. 

His stewing session is brought to a close by the telltale sound of a key in the front door lock (they exchanged keys about midway through last season). Daniel checks himself over in his bedroom mirror for.. signs of visible porn watching? Or of the bubbly anxiety that’s still filling him. He hears his name called, aggrieved, like it’s not the first time. 

Max is standing in the doorway, over encumbered with three large shopping totes dangling from his arms. His foot is blocking the door from closing completely, preventing a fallen cauliflower from being abandoned in the hall. Max nods at said vegetable, directing Daniel towards it.

“Could you get that?” Daniel complies, then follows to where Max is unloading his bounty of groceries: three other heads of cauliflower, what must be two kilograms of arugula, several packs of raw chicken breast, and four dozen eggs.

“Since when can you cook? I thought you would bring ready-made meals, like always.” Max laughs, not looking away from where he’s arranging a Great Wall of Cauliflower down the center of Daniel’s refrigerator, separating the Arugula Forest from Mount Egg. 

“I cannot, and I don’t intend to learn. That’s what you’re for, after all.” He’s smirking as he pulls out a giant cylinder of roasted mixed nuts, popping a handful into his mouth. “What have you been up too? I’m not used to your place being so silent.” 

Daniel is the type that frequently provides background noise for himself; a podcast playing from his phone, a television show going softly from the next room, maybe his expensive sound system blasting Scandinavian folk music if the mood strikes. The contrast makes his apartment seem almost stagnant at the moment, the thermostat is even switched to vacation mode. 

“I’ve been busy.” Max tilts his head disbelievingly at him as he munches another cluster of nuts. Daniel, maturely, doesn’t rise to the challenge. “Should I just cook us something now?” 

Max makes an affirmative noise, nodding his head in tandem to convey his response without opening his mouth, preventing nut shrapnel from going everywhere. Daniel isn’t a culinary mastermind, but it’s pretty hard to fuck up roasted cauliflower and pan seared chicken breast, or so he hopes. Max sticks close by clearing used dishes and vegetable scraps as Daniel tries to project confidence. When everything is (probably) ready, Max has plates ready and the kitchen is mostly clean. Daniel does a double take, but the dishes are done and the counters have been wiped down, albeit haphazardly. 

“I could get used to having pre-rut Max around! You _ cleaned, _and no one had to bully you into it.” Max exhales a small laugh, moving around the kitchen to sit with his plate at the dining nook.

“If I followed my instinctual desires, I’d be eating protein bars and mixed nuts in a nest of throw blankets and old t-shirts.” Daniel has no problem picturing that, it’s basically just every race weekend. Max bites into a floret, the crunch audible.

“Aww, you bought cruciferous vegetables and washed dishes just for me? Maxy-” Daniel spears a piece of cauliflower with his fork, waggling it about before biting it in half. It’s definitely al dente, but the flavor is nice. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.” 

“Fuck, I’m a bad friend.” Max’s dry delivery has Daniel throwing his head back in a jovial, full body laugh. Max has a pleased little smile on his face; he waits for Daniel to finish appreciating his hilarity before he resumes eating. The chicken is a little dry, though the crust adds a decent textural element; he considers dinner a success. 

They finish in companionable silence, then Max clears the table, apparently determined to do all the cleaning. He’s over the kitchen sink, scrubbing intently as Daniel surveys his work: the counters have streaks, the dishes that have been hand washed weren’t dried at all, so the small dish pad below them is completely saturated. He’s not going to do anything to discourage the behavior; he finds the whole situation adorable. Max looks up from the burnt on patch of chicken he’s trying to dislodge from a skillet and meets Daniel’s amused gaze. 

“Want to put on a movie or something? This will just take another minute.” Max resumes his washing, assuming the conversation over. All Daniel can think about is the film he failed at watching earlier despite his interest. It sounds like a losing proposition. 

“How about some Call of Duty?”

“Sure, set it up.” Daniel takes it for the dismissal that it is, and ambles over to the living room to arrange for some gaming. He just has the system set up when Max flops into Daniel’s favorite chair, drying his damp hands on the arm rests. He meets Daniel’s glare-- unrepentant-- and reaches a hand out for his controller, snatching it from Daniel’s grip when he doesn’t immediately hand it over. 

Daniel stretches out across the whole length of the couch, because _ fuck Max _and he is parallel to the TV here, giving him the clear vision advantage. They play a few games, Max doing so poorly that he shifts to sit on the floor in front of the couch, grumbling about his impeded view. Daniel’s avatar was taken out early on in the next match, and instead of respawning, he started backseat gaming from his lounged position above Max, offering useless tips and just being an ass in general. Max has a sniper shot lined up, but Daniel knocks his knee into Max’s back causing him to miss. Max turns an unimpressed glare at him and is brutally murdered on screen simultaneously. 

“You killed me!” Max screeches, dropping his controller on the ground so he can properly flail his arms in displeasure, Daniel’s laughter only encouraging his theatrics.

“No,” Daniel squints at the screen to read the username, “BorisBongLord killed you. I’m completely innocent.” He spreads his hands in a provocative manner, watching as Max’s eyes narrowed into slits. It’s the last warning he gets before he’s hauled off the sofa and makes hard contact with his unyielding living room floor. Breath knocked out on impact, Daniel can do little but twist his torso against the assault. Max _ pokes _at him, maximizing annoyance while preventing any actual damage. Daniel eventually finds the strength to pull his legs up into a quasi fetal position, using his knees to block Max’s jabbing fingers from finding any of his squishy areas. 

An intriguing detail is exposed in Daniel’s shifting; Max’s dick is hard. Daniel is familiar enough with Max’s dick to consider it a friendly acquaintance at this point-- they’ve been existing in shared spaces and have had innumerable spontaneous wrestling matches-- so it shouldn’t feel like such a surprise to find it here. Daniel justifies that it’s completely different; this isn’t morning wood, or a surprise friction boner, it’s _because_ of Daniel (or at least because of Max’s rut, which Daniel is spending with him) so he lets the heady rush of arousal pulse through him without further examination.

Daniel’s still curled beneath Max like a confused horny armadillo, so he makes the illogical jump to his next move here: slapping Max across the ass. The _ smack _is loud even with the background noise of the forgotten video game, and Max’s startled growl is even louder. Daniel lets his legs fall open-- ever grateful for his flexibility-- and hauls Max in to grind their crotches together forcefully. The growl cuts off as Max plasters himself to Daniel, breathing deeply through the nose and then exhaling a forceful puff from where his mouth is pressed against Daniel’s chest. 

Being so obviously scented usually causes Daniel some amusement, but he can’t really be bothered right now; Max is all rumpled and flushed, redness visible down his chest from Daniel’s awkward vantage point beneath him. The only coherent thought still floating though his head is to get Max naked and see how much of his body the blush covers.

“Bedroom?” Daniel doesn’t even try to sound suave, knows it would be wasted anyways. Max grumbles, but makes no move to leave his spot along Daniel’s body. Daniel makes a half hearted attempt to wiggle free, only really succeeding in adding more friction to the boner situation. “Come on, Max. We can’t fuck on the living room floor!”

There’s an unnecessary amount of touching and pulling involved, but together they get on their feet. Max leads the way to the master bedroom, ripping his shirt off as he goes and letting it drop to the hallway floor. Daniel retrieves the article of clothing as he follows-- it’s one of his, because of course it is-- and lets the feeling of aroused anticipation course through him.


End file.
